


There's Nothing To Be Scared Of

by Wilde_Shade



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wilde_Shade/pseuds/Wilde_Shade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ford has nightmares. He has them often.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Nothing To Be Scared Of

**Author's Note:**

> After years of casually orbiting fandom from a comfortable distance, Gravity Falls had pulled me back in. It's gotten out of hand, so I'm here to dump the trash from my Stancest trash heap. Uploading this and several other fics all at once, (hopefully, the formatting survives transit) so this A/N will likely be copied and pasted a few times.
> 
> I'm not sure if I'll keep adding these fics to my AO3, but they will be added to my tumblr side blog o' sin. Feel free to follow: http://sheepishandshamefaced.tumblr.com/

Stanford Pines used to have nightmares about monsters. When he was eight, he was sure there was a demon in his closet. It had one huge eye and watched when it thought Ford wasn’t looking.

His dad didn’t have time for childish nonsense. His mother wasn’t allowed to coddle. When he woke up terrified, he tried not to make any noise. Somehow, Stan always heard him anyway.

“Hey, Sixer,” Stan whispered, coming down the ladder and hopping onto his bunk. He came with the flashlight he kept under his pillow for reading comic books past their bed time. They crawled under the covers together and turned it on.

Under the covers with just Stan and a light between them, Ford felt safe. They made shadow puppets and swapped scary stories - probably not the brightest thing to do when you were already having consistent nightmares. It made Ford feel braver, though. He liked feeling brave.

“You’re better at this than me,” Stan complained, frowning at the shadow of a bird he’d made. Ford’s definitely looked more imposing. It had the broader wingspan by virtue of its creator having six fingers rather than five. Stan yawned. “Hey, I was thinking we should switch bunks.”

“Why?” Ford whispered, careful not to make too much noise so late at night.

“That way the monster will have to go through me to get to you, won’t it?”

“Do you think there really is a monster?”

“Do you?” Stan asked.

“No,” said Ford.

Stan shrugged, as if that settled that. “Then I guess I don’t either.”

“We can… We can still switch, though… If you want.”

“Yeah,” said Stan with a grin. “Okay.”

 

When Ford was teenager, he had a reoccurring nightmare. There were no monsters in it. He was just an old man, alone in New Jersey, minding the pawn shop.

No past worth mentioning, no future to look forward to. He’d never had a girlfriend. He’d never discovered anything, hadn’t furthered science, hadn’t even been a footnote in history. Somehow, his parents were still alive and exactly the same age. Mother ignored him. Dad was ashamed. Stan was nowhere at all.

Ford woke up, his heart racing. It was such a stupid thing to panic over, but he did - each and every time.

“Hey, Sixer.”

Ford didn’t know how Stan always guessed when he’d had a bad dream. Maybe he moaned in his sleep or something. Either way, Ford made room for him. “Hey,” he whispered back as Stan hoisted himself up onto the top bunk.

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

Stan flopped down beside him. The bed frame creaked but it had lasted this long and wasn’t breaking apart any time soon. Wordlessly, Stan put his arms around his twin from behind.

Ford liked the way his body fit against Stan’s like they were made for one another. He could feel Stan’s pulse in the arm cushioning his head. Ford’s own slowed to match it, his shallow breathing growing longer and deeper. “What if I never accomplish anything? What if I’m trapped here my whole life?”

Stan snorted and gave his brother a squeeze. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.”

“As soon high school’s over, we’re out of here,” said Stan. “Remember?”

How could Ford forget? He felt a swell of guilty affection for his brother in that moment - not guilty for the reason he imagined most people would feel guilty. As far as Ford was concerned, the relationship he and his brother shared was perfectly natural in the physical sense. It felt convenient… and inevitable.

No, the guilt rested squarely on their shared future. Treasure hunting was well and good when they were kids, but now?

Ford sighed and put his hand over Stan’s. He wondered if they would have wives some day. Ford thought Stan might. Stan had more luck with the ladies. Not much, but more than Ford. Ford didn’t grudge him that. If anything, he hoped he found someone.

Stan had more trouble than Ford did separating physical from emotional intimacy. Ford should have set clearer boundaries but never got around to it.

“Is the door locked?” Ford whispered, unable to fall back asleep.

“Always,” said Stan - and Ford just knew he was grinning.

Ford brought the covers up over them both and he turned around. They tried to keep it down as they shimmied out of their pajamas. It was hard. Neither could stop laughing.

 

After Ford returned from the portal, all of his dreams were nightmares.

Ford saw monsters when he closed his eyes. Those seemed less scary than they had when he was a child. The scary part was opening your eyes and finding yourself with nothing but an alien sky hanging over you. The scary part was your own mind. There were moments when sanity wasn’t abstract. In Ford’s dreams it was real and solid in his hands like a china plate.

Ford usually woke up to the sound of his own voice or to a sudden jolt as he sat up with a start - wherever it was he had fallen asleep.

Today, it was a hand on his shoulder Ford woke to. Instinct formed out of necessity made him lash out. He realized, too late, where and when he was. Eyes wide and breathing ragged, he dropped back down to his desk chair… Or tried to. He sort of missed the chair and just sank to the floor instead. Either was fine. His legs really didn’t want to support him just now.

“Hey, Sixer,” said Stan, carefully.

“Stanley, I didn’t…” Ford pressed a hand to his forehead and tried to catch his breath. His head was spinning. “You surprised me.”

“No kidding.” Stan sat down on the floor across from his brother. One hand covered his nose, which Ford could see was bleeding.

“Why are you even down here? You shouldn’t just- Oh, wow, that bleeding a lot. Let me see.” Ford reached out to check the damage, but hesitated when he caught sight of his own hand. It was shaking, badly. “This is embarrassing,” he admitted, trying to laugh it off - which, frankly, was even more embarrassing.

Stan reached for Ford’s shoulder, but Ford leaned away. “You’re safe,” he offered instead, though words really didn’t give Ford the same kind of security.

“I’m not,” Ford groaned. “We aren’t. None of us are.”

“Yeesh, you’re high strung.” Stan cast a quick and dubious look around the lab. “Where, uh, where do you sleep exactly?”

“I have a bed.”

“Do you want to, I dunno, sleep there instead of at a desk?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“It’s really not.” Ford swallowed and rubbed the heel of his hand across his eyes. He felt Stan’s hand on his shoulder and, this time, he leaned into it. Stan wrapped his arms around him and Ford let him. He let himself go limp against his brother’s chest, ignoring the way his glasses pressed awkwardly into his nose, focusing instead on the heartbeat so much steadier than his own.

“You’re…” Stan trailed off, maybe worried telling him he was okay would just be condescending. “I’ve got you,” he said. And that was more true.

Ford closed his eyes.

He must have fallen asleep. When he opened his eyes again, he was still on the floor. Stan was slouched back against his desk. Ford was sprawled out half on the concrete, half across Stan. When he raised his head from Stan’s chest, his brother opened his eyes.

Neither said anything at first. Ford wasn’t sure what to say. There was so much that needed to be said, and Ford was so tired. “I missed you,” he said, quietly. He felt Stan’s chest rise and fall in a sigh.

Stan didn’t have to say the same. Ford knew how much his twin had missed him. He’d always known.

Ford kissed him, quickly at first. He needed what they’d once had, but he wasn’t sure if this was still all right. When Stan said nothing, Ford kissed him again. It lasted longer this time. After a moment, Stan’s lips moved against his.

Ford pulled away. He swallowed and averted his eyes. “We could… uh. Go to my bed now… If you want, I mean.”

Stan gave an uncertain sort of groan. “I’m not-”

“It’s probably for the best,” Ford interrupted, sitting up. “Forget I said anything.”

“It’s not that, Poindexter. It’s just that you were asleep for a while. The flesh is willing, but my back gave out hours ago.”

“Oh.” Ford climbed off of him, carefully. “Do you want me to help you?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just live here from now on.”

“You know you could have woken me up,” said Ford, easing an arm Stan to help to his feet. He left it unsaid that he was glad he hadn’t. Ford had a feeling Stan knew anyway.


End file.
